


No Kissing

by Bullfinch



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bottom Fenris (Dragon Age), Deepthroating, Friends With Benefits, Light Bondage, M/M, Nipple Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Top Anders, Trans Fenris, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:35:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris wants to try rope bondage. Anders obliges. PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Kissing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yarking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yarking/gifts).



> Partly a gift for a friend and partly a challenge to myself to write a pairing I don't ship lol. I...sort of cheated (they're not dating) sorry

“There.” One last tug at his lower back. “How does that feel?”

Fenris takes a deep breath. The ropes that cross his chest and wrap around his stomach expand with the motion, scratchy on his skin. He reaches up and tugs at the segment beneath his right breast, slipping a finger under it. Plenty of room, even for two fingers, or three. He takes another breath, considering for a moment. Then: “Take it off. It’s not tight enough.”

Anders groans. “You couldn’t have told me that before?”

“I hadn’t decided. Now try it again.”

“Bastard,” Anders mutters. He pushes his sleeves up and begins undoing his hard work.

The harness around Fenris’s chest goes first. Anders’s hands are quick, and while he admitted to asking Isabela for advice, Fenris suspects the advice was meted out over multiple sessions, and there must have been a good deal of practice involved too. He isn’t jealous, nothing of the kind—only finds it amusing that Anders would spend so much effort on it. The corset-like section around Fenris’s middle takes some doing, as the loops of rope are stacked atop each other so as to cover him almost completely—but at last he is free. He stretches his arms and inhales—can hardly feel the difference, which rather defeats the point.

Anders circles the rope around his waist and cinches it, guiding it around him to make a second loop and pulling so tight it digs into his skin. Anders nods. “How’s that?”

Fenris nods. “Keep—keep going.”

The bands of cord ascend, splitting halfway up to cage his chest, his breasts pouched out between the rough line. Wide knots on his sternum and between his shoulderblades keep any pressure off of his neck and on his shoulders instead. This time when he takes a deep breath the rope pulls taut, resisting him. He can still breathe, yes. But he must fight for it.

“Well?” Anders comes around in front of Fenris, cocking an eyebrow. “Satisfied?”

Fenris traces the thick bands around his middle, so stiff he can hardly move against them. His hands rise to the harness around his chest. The design leaves his breasts completely exposed, and he grasps one idly, breathing in again just to feel the rope digging into him, on his shoulders, all over his ribcage, over his back and stomach. Yes. He _feels._

He was a prize before. Never touched for any reason but the self-indulgence of those who had the privilege of laying their hands on him. Empty, all of it, never for _him,_ always for their own satisfaction. He was a thing for them to use. It rarely occurred to them that he could _feel;_ or if it did, they did not care enough to act on the fact. They let him lie there while they took what they wanted.

He is not a prize. He is a person. He has a body that bends and bruises, and _feels._ He squeezes both his breasts, his ribs expanding against the rope—

—until his wrists are captured and bound together, another length of rope that Anders weaves in a figure-eight, tying his wrists tight. He feeds the rest back over Fenris’s left shoulder and goes behind him, forcing his hands up. Fenris pulls and twists against the new binding, the line rough against his skin. Good. Good.

Anders reaches around and grabs Fenris’s right breast. The free length of rope is wrapped around his palm, and it chafes Fenris’s nipple. He jerks reflexively, but his wrists stay pinned to his shoulder.

“Is that good?” Anders asks softly.

“More,” Fenris tells him.

Anders grips harder, mauling the soft flesh. Better. He pinches and tugs the nipple, and Fenris inhales sharply—the harness constricting him, yes, this is it, this is what he wanted. Every time he breathes, he feels the coarse rope against his skin. Every time he breathes, he _feels._

 _“Uh—“_ The inglorious noise falling out of his mouth as two fingers slide into him.

A chuckle. “You are _soaking_ wet.”

Fenris grunts and says nothing further. He doesn’t want anything to distract him from the sensation of fullness in his cunt, which, he must admit to himself, is _very_ wet. Anders’s lips press against his shoulder, and he tips his head to the side so Anders can kiss his neck, his jaw, his ear. All while fingering him—not thrusting, but stroking his inner walls, spreading him open. “That feel any good?” Anders murmurs.

“Mm—yes.” Fenris rocks his hips a little, trying to urge Anders deeper, although he’s already sunk in to the knuckle. So instead he fucks himself shallowly, hissing through his teeth as Anders again pulls on his nipple. It hurts, yes, but he’s had far worse, and he savors it because it _feels._ And he has chosen it. He asked for it.

“All right, that’s it.” Anders’s voice is rough with desire. “On the bed.”

Anders’s bed—a new installment; the old one had straw sticking out of every seam, and Fenris had it summarily replaced, to Anders’s displeasure. (He came around soon enough.) Fenris crawls onto it and lies down, flipping on his back. Anders takes the trailing line and ties it to the headboard, securing Fenris’s hands above his head. Then he kneels on the bed and slips two fingers into Fenris’s cunt again without ceremony.

 _“Ah—“_ Fenris plants his feet on the sheets and lifts his hips, rolling them against Anders’s fingers. The bands of rope dig into his chest as he arches, above, below and between his breasts. He hadn’t realized the methodical process of tying the harness had aroused him this much, but he’s _sensitive,_ and he seeks more, trying to coax Anders to fuck him.

“Maker. You look amazing.” Anders grasps Fenris’s breast again. “I really am quite good at this whole rope business, aren’t I?”

“Mage,” Fenris pants. “Fuck me.”

Anders snorts. “I’ve got you tied to the bed and you’re still making demands? Unbelievable.”

Fenris is about to reply but Anders’s teeth latch onto his other nipple and he swallows a cry instead. Anders tugs, both with his mouth and on the other nipple with his free hand, and Fenris, to his eternal shame, whines at the pain. He writhes on the bed, Anders’s fingers twisting inside him.

Then Anders relents, and he massages Fenris’s breast, going over the other with lingering kisses and sharp little nips of his teeth that make Fenris flinch and squirm. The rope chafes on his stomach, his sides, and his shoulders. Those nips will leave marks. Good. Each tiny purple bruise a reminder of him lying here gasping as Anders—still fully clothed—takes him apart.

Then the torment stops, and Anders takes Fenris’s nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue. Fenris lets out a breath, relaxing into the gentle ministrations. Anders’s thumb circles his other nipple. They’re sensitive, and Fenris still rolls his hips agains the fingers inside him, now grown woefully inadequate. “Please,” he breathes. “More. I need more.”

“Mm.” Anders gives his nipple one last kiss, then sits back. “More what?”

“Fingers. Or your cock.” He gathers himself enough to offer a smirk. “Either will suffice.”

“Oh, thanks. That really makes me feel special.”

“Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“How could I say no when you lavish me with such high praise?” He withdraws his fingers and smacks Fenris’s thigh. “All right, on your hands and knees.”

Fenris turns over, and he’s up on his elbows when he hears Anders say “Shit. Sorry.”

Fenris is confused for a second until he remembers. The smack on the thigh. That was one of the rules he put forth at the beginning— _no striking,_ along with _no choking_ and _no kissing_ and _when I say stop, we stop._ But this hardly counts. “It’s all right,” Fenris replies, rising up onto his bound hands. “We can keep going.”

“Right. Move back.”

Fenris obeys, shuffling back so his hands are drawn out in front of him; a tug on his hip coaxes him further back until he can hardly even rest on his elbows. The sound of rustling—a shirt untucked, trouser laces undone, no doubt. He glances over his shoulder. “Sometime this afternoon would be nice.”

“Oh, shut up.” Fingers at his vulva, opening him up—

—Anders’s cock sliding in. Fenris lets out a breath, collapsing to the bed. Full. He loves that feeling.

“Doing all right there?” Anders asks smugly.

 _“Fuck me,”_ Fenris snarls.

“As you wish.”

There is no warming up, no allowing Fenris time to adjust. Anders plunges into him hard and fast, such that Fenris is moaning before he realizes it, the harness constricting his ribs and stomach as he gasps for breath, the rope digging into his waist. Anders grasps his hips and pulls him back with each stroke. “There, is that what you wanted?”

“Y—yes—yes—“ Fenris hangs his head, his body rocked back and forth by the reckless fucking. Anders is hitting him deep, the pleasure gathering at his core enough to make his legs go weak. But of course he can’t reach his clit because of the damned wrist bindings. He tugs at them and thinks of phasing through to escape them; but that would be cheating.

Then Anders grabs the thick knot between his shoulderblades and pulls.

Fenris’s upper body is lifted into the air, effectively suspended by the harness, hanging against the coarse ropes. His hands are drawn out in front of him, the line taut between him and the headboard. He feels the stretch in his arms, the roughness against the skin at his wrists and chest, his own weight sagging in the harness—

—Anders’s fingers at his clit. Fenris shouts in surprise and fucks back against him, plowing himself down on Anders’s cock. This angle puts pressure on the spot deep inside him that sends jolts of pleasure straight to his clit—which Anders is attacking mercilessly, slipping down to Fenris’s entrance to gather fluid before returning to rub and roll the swollen nub under the balls of his fingers.

“Yes, yes, please—“ Fenris has a vague notion that he should be mortified to hear himself saying this to Anders, but he’s too far gone to care and only wants to be fucked until he can’t think anymore. “Please, Anders—“

“What is it?” Anders murmurs.

“Please, I need to come, please—“ It’s too much, his cunt spread wide, gripping Anders’s cock, every thrust feeding the pleasure that gathers hot in his clit under those relentless fingers.

“Are you that close already?”

 _“Yes!”_ He _could_ come, he thinks, right now, if he only reached for it—

“Not yet.”

Then suddenly Anders pulls out, and he lets Fenris back down to the bed. Fenris groans, his wet cunt burning, clit still throbbing with need.

Anders comes in front of him and pulls on his wrist bindings, guiding him closer to the headboard. “First you suck me off.”

Fenris props himself up on his hands. So he needs to make Anders come first. Fine. He can do that. Anders kneels on the bed, his trousers still on but his cock free, hard and shining.

Fenris lunges forward and takes it in his mouth.

It skims over his tongue for just a second, just enough time for him to taste himself on it, before it slides into his throat and hilts there. Anders gasps out a surprised curse, and Fenris smiles as best he can with his lips stretched around Anders’s shaft. An ill-advised bargain. Anders may have hoped to prolong this tryst; instead he has no doubt done just the reverse. Fenris slides off and coughs into his shoulder—pathetic, really, he should be able to stay down for much longer. But he has not warmed himself up.

He leans forward and takes Anders again into his mouth.

This time he bobs slowly, each time descending until his nose is pressed to Anders’s stomach before hollowing his cheeks and rising up again, pausing a moment to lock his lips beneath the crown, sucking at the head. His eyes flick up. Anders has a hand against the wall to steady himself, and the other he runs through Fenris’s hair—not grabbing him or pushing him down, that was part of the _no choking_ rule—only stroking it. He watches Fenris, faintly dazed. Time to finish this.

Fenris takes a breath and sinks down once more. This time he keeps Anders’s cock sheathed in his throat, and he swipes his tongue over the underside of his shaft, lips sealed tight around the base. Then he begins to bob—not enough to let Anders out of his throat, only enough to reach higher on his shaft with his lips and tongue. His brow furrows as he resists a gag; still he keeps his gaze locked with Anders, swallowing to tighten his throat.

Then Anders shuts his eyes and groans out “oh, fuck, Fenris, I’m going to come,” so Fenris comes off and sucks hard on the head of Anders’s cock and Anders curses again as the taste of salt hits Fenris’s tongue.

Fenris lets Anders fuck into his mouth, moving with him, still laving his shaft and sucking his glans. Anders makes a soft, defeated noise, and with odd gentleness he strokes Fenris’s face and ear. His lips are parted slightly and his face flushed, and Fenris smiles again at the sight. He swallows the first jets of seed, and the second, and the third; then Anders slides out of his mouth and Fenris kisses his softening cock, licking away the last remnants of his climax.

“Fenris,” Anders says weakly, climbing off the bed. “On your back. Please.”

So Fenris obliges, and he’s hardly lain down before Anders is sliding three fingers into him and sucking at his neglected clit. Fenris shouts, arching off the bed; but Anders stays, his lips locked around Fenris’s clit, his tongue flickering at the sensitive tip. His fingers plunge in and out of Fenris’s cunt, hooked hard, stretching and stroking his inner walls. Friction builds hot at his entrance, fed by Anders’s ruthless thrusting. But it’s the suction at his clit, Anders’s tongue punishing the swollen bud, that overwhelms him. The pleasure mounts all at once until it becomes unbearable—and then the orgasm roars into his awareness.

Fenris’s whole body tenses. His legs spasm to either side of Anders’s head, and he writhes, his muscles taut, wrists pulling hard against their unyielding bindings. The rough rope rubs against his stomach and constricts his heaving chest. His hips buck wildly, but Anders stays locked to his cunt. He’s yelling, he can hear it, but he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. His cunt squeezes tight, impossibly tight—and _still_ Anders is fucking him with hooked fingers, stoking his orgasm at that spot deep inside him. His clit pulses, still captive to Anders’s lips, under assault by his quick tongue. Fenris shakes his head, yanking against the wrist bindings. It’s too much, he can’t endure it, and yet he is, his cunt contracting, milking Anders’s merciless fingers.

He isn’t sure when the orgasm stops. He does stop yelling, and the pleasure dulls out, granting him a reprieve; until suddenly he’s far too sensitive, and his legs jerk as he babbles out, “Please, no more, please, please—“

Anders sits back and pulls his fingers out.

Fenris blinks slowly at the ceiling as Anders moves around him. His wrists fall free, and then he’s rolled onto his side. A light tugging at his back, and sure hands undoing the harness with utmost care. When the rope releases him he takes a deep breath for the first time in…he’s not sure how long. Absently he rubs his stomach. His skin is covered in shallow red marks.

“Come here,” he mumbles.

Pressure indenting on the mattress. “What d’you need?”

Fenris gestures. “Lie at my back.”

A pause. “Oh. Er—all right.” Anders arranges himself behind Fenris, fitting their bodies together, wrapping an arm around his chest. “There, how’s that?”

“Good.” Fenris shuts his eyes. “Stay there. I’m going to take a nap, if you don’t mind.”

A guffaw. “Since when are you into cuddling?”

“Do you have a problem with it? I could leave, if you’d prefer.”

“No! This is fine. You can have a nap.”

“Mm. Thank you for this. It was…enjoyable.”

“You’re quite welcome. I enjoyed myself too.”

That’s all Fenris needs from this, really. Anders’s chest is warm against his back. He takes another deep breath, savoring the tingling on his skin where the rope rubbed against him, and lets himself drift off.


End file.
